Silent Presence
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Sherlock was usually the silent presence in the flat, but now, it's John ghosting around the familiar floors of 221B. Post-reveal about Mary but pre-Christmas dinner. Friendship fluff.


**Silent Presence**

When John showed up at Baker Street, a duffel bag full of clothes and a set look on his face, Sherlock didn't ask what he was doing. It was obvious.

John threw his bag onto the floor and flopped into his chair, grabbing the remote from the armrest to turn the TV on.

Sherlock didn't move from his position, sprawled out on the sofa with his head on the armrest and his feet on the other one. He didn't feel like it, anyway. His body was still recovering from the horrible recuperation period that he _hadn't_ given it after being shot. He wasn't back to his full potential. For once, he wasn't sure he cared. Life was a dark place right now; he wasn't really up to running around on cases.

John settled on _Crimewatch_. Sherlock didn't know if it was for his benefit or if it was John saying that he wanted to be back into Sherlock's life like he used to be.

Sherlock closed his eyes, fingertips pressing together gently over his chest. "There's an extra toothbrush in the second drawer under the mirror," he said shortly.

* * *

It was a strange feeling to have someone under his roof again. He'd been living alone for around three years now, nevertheless if he'd returned to London months ago. It wasn't really his fault that he forgot John was there one night and started playing Mozart on his violin and he didn't remember that he shouldn't have been doing that until John's footfalls where on the stairs.

He whisked his violin from his shoulder. "Sorry-"

"Shut up," John interrupted. His tone was nowhere near the playfulness of their past. "Shut up, and go to bed."

Sherlock put his violin down. "Yes."

John whirled around and thumped back upstairs, slamming his door behind him.

Sherlock looked up the stairs for a moment before sighing, chest heaving with the exhale. He wanted John to forgive Mary, but he knew at the same time it wasn't that easy. He was glad to have John back... He just wished that John was alright with it, too.

* * *

It wasn't like John was there all the time. Sherlock didn't know if that was better or worse than him staying away from Mary all the time. He went back to her, which was definitely good, but then he usually left in a huff, storming back into Baker Street like a thunderstorm crashing through London.

Sherlock didn't react, physically, at least, whenever that happened.

Mentally, he just hated seeing them suffer.

* * *

As much as he loathed alcohol (re-exemplified by the stag night they'd had a few months ago), Sherlock didn't so much as say a word when John crashed back into Baker Street one night, stumbling and cursing and smelling like he'd bathed in stout rather than drank it.

He'd never seen John drunk. The only time he'd witnessed it was when he'd been drunk himself and he really didn't remember anything that John had done. He was pretty sure that there had been a lot of giggling.

The laughter was absent now, though. Sherlock stayed in his room, sitting with his back against the door and looking at old case files on his tablet, until silence had reigned through the flat.

John had fallen asleep on the couch. Sherlock silently removed the half of his coat that he hadn't gotten off, draped a blanket over him, set a glass of water and seltzer tablets on the table, and ghosted back to his bedroom to get some sleep himself.

* * *

Sherlock dropped the take-away box of Chinese into John's lap. "Eat."

John looked away from the telly, to the box of Chinese, and then Sherlock as he sat next to him on the sofa. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat," Sherlock repeated, grabbing the remote and turning the TV to what he wanted to watch.

* * *

There was a limit to Sherlock's kindness, however.

Rows. He couldn't stand rows.

Somehow, Mary and John were both at his flat. Sherlock thought that Mary had come looking for John, where, of course, John had come here to get away from Mary. And the domestic of the year started as such. John was yelling, Mary was yelling.

"Shut _up_!" Sherlock snapped, voice raising to almost a shout himself.

John and Mary both stopped, glares transferring to him instead of each other.

"If you want to fight, do it somewhere else," Sherlock said, glaring back at them instead of looking back at his microscope. "It's getting you both nowhere and I don't want to hear it."

It wasn't like he had had a particularly brutal childhood, but yelling still took him back to when his parents had gotten angry at him for doing something wrong. It didn't happen often back then, which he was overly grateful for, but it still jangled at his nerves when someone was arguing near him. He just didn't like to hear it and this was his house, his rules.

"I understand both of your points of view, but _please_," Sherlock continued, "stop screaming at each other. Talk. Or don't talk at all. I'd prefer it if it was the first option, but if you aren't there yet, then leave and go back to it later because you are getting nowhere now."

He looked back at his microscope, ignoring his hands as they trembled when he changed out the slide.

* * *

"You don't like me here."

Sherlock paused, looking away from his barbeque ribs and up to John. "I make a stupendous dinner and that's what you have to say?"

John shrugged, jabbing at his green beans. "You'd rather if I was back at my own flat."

Sherlock looked back at his ribs. "That's not true."

"You want me to make up with Mary."

Sherlock licked barbeque sauce from his fingers. "I do."

"Meaning you don't want me here," John said.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. This is like the old days."

"No, it's not." John sighed. "It's nothing like the old days. How can you forgive her when she tried to kill you? There was a time that if I had to pick between you and a woman, you'd demand that I pick you."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Yes, you would," John retaliated. "But now you want me to pick Mary."

"No," Sherlock said. "I want you to pick both of us. You picked Mary because you loved her, John. You loved what she was without knowing it. That's why you picked her. And given that she is what she is, if she wanted to kill me, I would not be sitting here with you."

"But if I hadn't been there, she would have killed you and Magnussen both."

Sherlock picked through his ribs silently. He wasn't sure what would have happened if John hadn't been there. Mary would have killed Magnussen, without a doubt, but Sherlock was unsure what fate he would have suffered. He leaned towards that she would have done the same exact thing, though. Maybe.

"She loves you," he said instead.

_We just want to see you happy._

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked away from his laptop as John flopped onto the sofa next to him.

"I've been an arse," John said.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly to ask _about what?_

"Mary and me... I completely took over your flat. I didn't even bother asking. Things aren't the way that they used to be."

"You're welcome to stay," Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "I know. You've let me stay this long and trust me, I know if you you don't like something. _Everybody_ knows if you don't like something and you haven't complained about me staying. But... this is my problem. Mary and I's problems. Not yours. So, I'm sorry that I kind of pushed it off onto you."

"I was involved." Sherlock paused. "... And I don't mind. Whatever you need..." he trailed off, shrugging a bit.

John smiled faintly. "I need to get back to myself. And my life. Thank you for getting me to realize that."

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked back at his laptop. "Yeah. I knew you'd get there eventually. Just needed your time."

"Yeah..."

Sherlock looked up again. "My parents want Mycroft and I to go to America for Christmas this year." He looked at John. "You and Mary should come with us."

John frowned. "Why? Your parents probably want to have a family Christmas with you and Mycroft."

Sherlock shrugged. "You two are the next two closest things that I have to family, so I'm free to invite you if I want."

John blinked.

"Besides, it might be good for you and Mary," Sherlock added, looking back at his laptop again.

"Uh... well. If you're sure... I'll ask Mary."

Sherlock nodded once.

John sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Well. Huh. Do you want a takeaway or something? How about Angelo's? My treat."

"Mm. Sounds good."

John smiled faintly. "Alright. I'm going to change... ready in a few?"

"Sounds good," Sherlock said, looking up to watch John take the stairs two at a time up to his old bedroom. He smiled at John's retreating back for the first time in what seemed like a long time. It wasn't perfect yet, but it was a step.

And besides...

Sherlock's fingers swept across the keyboard, drawing up his email.

_To: BWig_  
_ Subject: 12/25_

_John and Mary are a go. Take note of her pregnancy._  
_ Chemical report?_

_S_

* * *

**Hello, _Sherlock_ fans! I promise that I haven't given up this fandom. I would say I'm sorry for posting everything _but_ _Sherlock_ fanfiction lately, but... I'm not. _Mortal Instruments_ and _Kingdom Hearts_ make me happy, too. But never fear: _Sherlock_ and Benedict combined got me through some hard times and there are things happening now that it will continue to be my support group, as such. It just seems my old slash pairings are coming out again, so, other fandoms. :p But, I still love _Sherlock_, so don't you all worry.**

**Anyway, I was re-watching _HLV _in a rare occurrence and wanted to write something post Mary-reveal and pre-Christmas dinner, and thus... this. :D I love S3's human!Sherlock so much.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thanks for reading, and reviews and favs are always appreciated! :)**


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